


Arena Rock

by yamyamyam



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Embedded Images, Full Steve Ahead, It's worse than leg day, Life-threatening spa treatments, M/M, Planet Hulk, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Sakaar (Marvel), Scorpion day, Steve in a corset, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamyamyam/pseuds/yamyamyam
Summary: Since the Champion split from Sakaar, the Grandmaster's been down in the dumps.  So how better to curry favour than to deliver him some new champions! Captain America and the Winter Soldier should more than do the trick. They're kind of hard to capture, but with a little time travel, this bounty hunter is SET.One minute Bucky is breaking up a fight Steve started in an alley, next minute they're in a throne room on an actual alien planet, they're apparently gladiators now, and there's a talking rock person. Meanwhile Steve has found a way to cause more trouble than even Bucky thought possible, there are giant scorpions, and this mandatory shiny outfit chafes like hell.  Can this week get any more messed up?SPOILER: YES. YES IT CAN.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 77
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2019





	Arena Rock

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2019!
> 
> Words: yamyamyam  
> [Art: Lladylittlefinger ](https://www.instagram.com/lady_elena_baelish/)  
> Beta: coldwinterrose
> 
> Thanks to the mods for organizing this, to my amazing artist for the inspiration, and to my fantastic beta who rescued me from the POV dungeon. <3

Bucky dusts Steve off a little more roughly than is strictly necessary, ending by flattening his hair, wild with sweat, down in the wrong direction. Steve, indignant, squawks and reaches up to flip his hair back over to the right side, and Bucky swoops in with a handkerchief to wipe the blood off his nose while his hands are thus occupied. You'd almost think he'd done this before.

"Hey! Knock it off."

"I should knock it off! Me! Oh yes, I am definitely the impulsive one in this situation, my APOLOGIES Mister Rogers, did I disturb your COIF by trying to mop up the blood all over your ugly snoot? A thousand pardons!"

Steve blows air out through his teeth and frowns. "I can take care of myself."

"He can take care of himself!" It's not clear who Bucky is addressing as he throws his hands up and channels his mother a little more than he'd care to examine closely. "I find him in an alley with three guys who each outweigh him two to one, being shoved into a trash can, but he can take care of himself."

"I had 'em on the ropes." Steve retorts, though without heat. He's been through this conversation with Bucky enough times to know he just has to let him run down. He's the excitable sort, is Bucky. 

Steve looks down at his outfit, the many-times repaired knees of his trousers broken open again, his jacket smeared with tar. Swelling is already starting up on his right hand where his fist met someone's face with more conviction than proper form. Well, maybe Steve's the excitable sort too. 

"Sure, sure, you had 'em on the ropes and I'm the King of England. You know," he says, shaking out his kerchief and looking at it mournfully. "If you can't think of your own fool ass, you could at least spare a thought for my poor pocket square. You think these things grow on trees?"

"I thought for sure the King of England had plenty," says Steve, looking innocent. 

Bucky glares at him and stands up from where he'd been on his knees tending to Steve, brushing miscellaneous alley gunk off his slacks as he gets up. "Well I gave the royal laundress the day off, so try to stop bleeding so much, won'tcha?" 

One of the alley thugs, the only one who hadn't run off once Bucky put himself in front of Steve, moans from where he's lying on the ground. Bucky aims a kick at his ribs as they walk by. "And you! You ought to be ashamed. Picking on a guy half your—" Steve pokes him in the side. "Hey!"

"Knock it off!" hisses Steve.

"Well he should."

"He should be ashamed, but not for picking on me. I started it." Steve juts his chin out, daring Bucky to disagree.

"Rogers, I guarantee you, I one hundred percent believe that you started it. You are a grade A, certified expert at starting stupid shit. What, did you catch him telling a kitten to vote for a union-buster?"

Steve shoots a dark look back at the groaning man on the ground. "No, but he—"

Bucky never does find out what the miscreant's social faux pas was; they're interrupted by a blinding flash of blue light, and a man dressed like something out of King Arthur and his knights appears in front of them. Bucky tucks Steve behind him absently; Steve wriggles loose to square up to... whoever or whatever the dude in metal underwear is. Bucky frowns. "What in hell's half-acre is..." The man raises something a little more Buck Rogers than Lancelot and squeezes it, there's another flash, and it's the last thing either of them remembers for quite some time.

=====

When they come to, they're strapped into a garish painted enclosed metal chair together, like if the Tunnels Of Love ride at Coney Island was mandatory. They seem to be in the middle of.. an auction? a trial? The evil alley knight is there, his metal faceplate removed, revealing... green skin?! Green skin wrinkled with worry; the knight is desperately appealing to a man seated on a throne, wearing makeup like a clown, flanked by a stolid, stern woman in other, different metal clothing who is holding what looks like a bedpost but is probably something more ominous.

"...no, no, of course I wouldn't try to fool you, majestic master! I swear to you, this is the renowned Earth fighting team, Captain America and the Winter Soldier!"

"Who the hell are they?" Bucky blurts out. Steve, he notices now, is gagged. Bucky's wadded up handkerchief, still soaked in blood, has been shoved into his mouth and held there with some kind of tape.

"What an excellent question from the peanut gallery!" says Clown King Guy. "Who are you people?"

Bucky is feeling very uncertain about who he should be trying to please here. "Just a couple kids from Brooklyn! Look, is this about that guy I kicked? I swear, I didn't—"

"Mm mm, bored now." Clown King Guy waves impatiently at the woman beside him and she steps forward to slap some tape over Bucky's mouth too. Well, shit. "They really don't seem very..." His Royal Highness Bozo looks dubiously at Bucky and downright mockingly at Steve. "...renowned, was it? What was it they were renowned for?"

"Warriors, my lord! The finest warriors!"

Clown King looks over at Green Knight sharply. "...uh, excepting your former champion, of course, who—" He trails off as the woman presses a button on her bedpost, making it buzz alarmingly. 

"Who is not to be mentioned in the Grandmaster's presence," she says in a monotone.

"I apologize! I apologize!"

The... Grandmaster? The Grandmaster is looking dangerously whimsical. "Topaz," he starts. "Why don't you give this bounty hunter a token of my esteem."

She looks 1% happier and runs her thumb up a switch on the bedpost, which buzzes louder.

Green Knight shudders and hides behind his hands. "No! No! Wait! I can prove it!"

The Grandmaster holds out one finger, and Topaz sighs and turns off her... post. Staff. Thing. "Prove what."

"That they are the heroes I have described! Please, give me two rotations, I'll come back with, with, everything! If I don't, you can strike me down where I stand!"

Grandmaster raises an eyebrow, which has a somewhat dizzying effect with all the paint on his eyelids. "Well I can do _that_ without a waiting period, o valueless vassal."

"And, and, more! I'll bring proof AND an, an, Earth delicacy!"

"Ooh, I do like delicacies."

Green Knight is clearly just making shit up at this point. He looks at Grandmaster's made-up face and tries: "Yes! A rare tonic proven to, ah, to tighten and firm the skin and tone the muscles! Only four men have survived its raw restorative spa powers in the history of their p-planet!"

Is he really going to buy this crap? But the Grandmaster looks like a kid on Christmas morning. "Dangerous beauty! Yes! I love it. Don't you love it, Topaz?"

"It's fine." she says flatly.

"Fine? It's _fine?_ You know, Topaz, sometimes I think your aesthetic sensibilities are dead."

"Your radiant countenance has burned out my sense of awe, sir."

The Grandmaster, coy, presses a hand to each cheek in turn. "Oh, you! But I see your point." He turns to the trembling bounty hunter. "Very well! Two rotations! Chop chop!" Topaz makes a minute gesture and two armed guards in truly ridiculous uniforms escort their green-skinned abductor from the scene. The Grandmaster turns his attention to Steve and Bucky. Steve is writhing like an eel dumped on the sidewalk, clearly furious. Bucky is suddenly glad that he's gagged. They are in deep enough trouble already without Steve talking his way up to something worse. "Well, just in case there's something to all that, send them to the arena. They can mop up blood or polish swords or something while we wait." He strikes a pose, waggles his fingers at them in a goodbye, and their weird chair starts moving. Oh god, they really are in the Tunnels of Love. Did Bucky have bad sauerkraut last night? Is this a horrible dream?

=====

"Horrible dream" seems more and more likely when they get to their new home, but Bucky's not sure his imagination could have come up with their new surroundings. They're in a prison complex, dank tunnels full of dust and blood, metal slabs for beds, nasty, reeking holes for the necessary and definitely no shower facilities. Their coldwater flat in Brooklyn isn't exactly luxurious, but suddenly it seems extravagant and lush by comparison. It's definitely got better neighbours. Their fellow prisoners include a few humans, or at least, creatures who can pass for human, but also beings of every hue and texture, most with claws or fangs, and all looking distinctly underfed. 

Bucky had placed himself in front of Steve when they arrived, ready to fight to protect him, not with any realistic hope of coming out on top, but unwilling to let him go without a struggle. But then what he had pegged as a pile of rocks stands up and starts _talking_ , in a friendly, soothing voice, as if he were trying to calm down a feral cat. 

"Hoy there! I'm Korg. Welcome to the arena."

Bucky blinks at the rock creature.

"You ah... does your species talk?" Korg looks inquisitive. For a rock.

Bucky's hand trails up to his mouth and he realizes he can talk, that the tape had been removed at some point during their transfer to this little slice of hell. Steve's hadn't been, but, well. Bucky can't blame them for that, exactly. Steve _bites_.

"Talk, yeah. I'm Bucky, this is Steve. We. Shit, how do _you_ talk? And how do you know English?"

"With my mouth, obviously," Korg replies, amused. "And what's an English?"

"The language we're speaking?" 

"Oh! Hah! Nah, that's the talkbots. Nanites in your brain. Would've happened when you arrived on planet."

"Nanites?"

Steve is grunting furiously behind Bucky; an enormous insect-like creature approaches him, hands... pincers? held up in front of it soothingly, and slowly reaches one out to Steve.

"Hey, whoah, whoah, stop!" shouts Bucky, interposing himself between Steve and the insect guy.

"Oh hey, no, it's cool, mates, that's Brood. Brood's just trying to take off that gag, it's a bit tricky if you have fleshy appendages." Korg gestures sympathetically at Bucky's fists, clucking over his misfortune not to have an exoskeleton or a volcano for hands or something. God, can this be a dream? Please? Bucky wants to wake up.

He waits a minute, but waking up doesn't seem to be in the cards, so he cautiously moves aside to let Brood tend to Steve. Brood tenderly presses on both sides of the tape over Steve's mouth and it retracts into itself and falls to the ground. 

"What's a talk bot? What's a nanite? What's the arena? Does this place have lawyers? Do we have a union? Who's in—" Bucky clamps a hand over Steve's mouth.

"Steve, pal, he can't answer your questions until you stop asking them."

Steve looks mutinous, but doesn't bite. Bucky's gonna count that as a win.

Korg, eyes twinkling, which might just be quartz or something, addresses Steve. "Nanite's a robot—you know what a robot is?" Steve nods; apparently he does sometimes listen when Bucky talks about his pulps. "Right tiny ones, too small for you to see, probably. They're in the air, they enter your bloodstream, go to your brain, and bam, Miek's your uncle, you can speak the local lingo."

Bucky frowns. "But it sounds like English."

"Eh, brains, amirite?"

Bucky shrugs. Sure, whatever.

"As for who's in charge, that would be the Grandmaster, and his troops, on account of all the death rays and so forth. Very persuasive, death rays. Speaking of, you want to be careful with the gadget on your necks."

Bucky and Steve look at each other's necks, only to see a silver-dollar-sized metal circle pressed deep into the skin. Bucky runs his fingers over his carefully. It doesn't hurt, but it's definitely not going anywhere.

"Yeah, so that's an obedience disk. It's also very persuasive, in a high voltage sort of way."

Steve frowns, more, and looks like he's about to hold forth on god only knows what, emancipation ethics maybe, when a loud buzzer sounds. Brood covers its... ears? Probably ears? with two sets of... arms, let's go with arms. 

Korg beckons to them stonily. "Eh, time for work, boys. Come with me, I'll get you situated."

Steve wiggles free from the hand over his mouth and spits out: "I'm not working for a dictator! Forget it!" 

"Steve. Death rays." Bucky tugs Steve along by an elbow, careful to keep out of biting range.

"Buck. We can't just... abet this tyranny!"

"Abet this tyranny. Oh my god, listen to yourself. Steve, we're on an alien planet with death rays. DEATH RAYS. Let's at least find out the local political situation before uh, organizing a protest, okay?"

Steve makes an adorable little grumpy pout face, but comes along with them.

Work turns out to mean looting corpses. Whatever happens in the arena has a high fatality rate; their job is to remove usable weapons and armor, clean them, and return them to the quartermaster, a grizzled old fellow—or maybe young; he's covered in grey fur, but that might just be normal for his species, who knows. He seems to be asleep until one worker tries to tuck a scavenged knife into his shirt. Abruptly the quartermaster is in motion, then the hapless knife-thief is a pile of ashes, and then the quartermaster is back to his nap. Jesus Christ's sainted false teeth. 

The other workers had frozen while this went down. Once the ashes have stopped smoking, Korg carefully extracts the knife from the pile of ashes, wipes it clean, and places it in front of the quartermaster, who opens one lazy eye, nods vaguely, and closes it again. The workers let out their collective breaths and motion resumes. Korg seems to be the arena den mother, keeping the peace, hissing warnings at newbies, and taking on the sketchiest-looking scavenging tasks. Although maybe they're not as dangerous-looking to him; Korg really does seem to be made of actual, factual rocks. 

Midway through their third workday, Bucky and Steve are plucked from the company and shoved back into the Tunnels Of Love chair. They're not gagged this time, but Steve is, miraculously, acting in his own self-interest and keeping his tiny, bite-y mouth shut for a change. Probably out of exhaustion, poor guy; a day and a half of physical labour without so much as an asthma cigarette is more than his body was meant to take. Whatever the reason, Bucky is grateful. 

The chair jolts to a stop in the throne room they were in on the first day. The Grandmaster, Topaz, and the green-skinned bounty knight guy are all there again, but this time there's a miniature theatre screen, in living colour, showing the head of a professor-type with round glasses. It doesn't seem to be a film, though—the head swivels over to look at them, takes in Steve's small form with interest, then makes eye contact with Bucky and laughs, low and menacing. Bucky has chills. 

Green Knight looks triumphant. "You see? Doctor Zola, tell him."

Topaz thumps her staff at Green Knight, who flinches back a couple of steps, enthusiasm curbed. Zola the floating head seems to have more experience with diplomacy; he smoothly cuts in with "If I may be so bold, your glorious majesty, I may have some experience that could serve your interests."

The Grandmaster waves at him impatiently. "Yes, yes, what is it?"

"These are indeed young, unformed versions of two mighty warriors of Earth. With ze appropriate resources and my own humble expertise, I can transform them to their fullest potential, to battle for your amusement."

"Yes! Yes, resources! I brought—" Topaz directs a quelling glare at Green Knight. "Um. Your sireship, my lord, I have additional artifacts to offer your greatness."

"Presents! Why didn't you say so!" The Grandmaster stretches out his hands, making grabby motions. The green-skinned bounty hunter bows and presents with a flourish a small vial of blue liquid and what looks like a children's book.

"Behold, a sample of the tonic used to give the warriors the strength of ten men! And a tome detailing their feats of martial prowess."

"Is this the—" Grandmaster slaps his cheeks. "—skin cream you mentioned?"

"Uh... sure! A most potent spa treatment."

Zola makes an "Ennh, not really" gesture with a hand that appears on screen briefly.

"And this tome, let's see, I love a good tome." The Grandmaster flips through "My Little Golden Baby's First Avengers Storybook." He gets to a page with another green-skinned fellow on it, this one huge and musclebound, and his face contorts in a rictus of fury.

"Topaz. What is the number one rule in this throne room."

"His Majesty is a Winter and prefers jewel tones."

He looks frustrated. "No, no, not that. Okay what's the number two rule?" He holds up the book and stabs a finger at the image of the green giant.

"His Majesty's former champion, who does not exist, is not to be spoken of or referred to in any way."

"THANK YOU. Yes. Now." He reaches out a hand to Topaz, who hands over her enormous staff. "You seem very eager to please, whatever your name is."

"Anselm, sire." says the bounty hunter.

"Right, I don't care. You seem appropriately eager to please, so I have great news for you. You will serve the Grandmaster's pleasure today!"

"It is my great honour to serve!" manages Green Knight nervously.

"Yes, isn't it? Tell your grandkids all about it. Although I'd be quick about it if I were you." The Grandmaster flips a switch on the staff and points it at Green Knight, who presently becomes a small scorched spot on the stone floor. Yikes.

The Grandmaster idly throws the book over his shoulder and returns to his throne. "Well, that was a waste of my afternoon." He picks up the vial and looks over at Zola's floating head. "So this really isn't a skin toner...?"

Zola shakes his head, which is kind of unnerving without a neck. "I am afraid that effects on ze skin are... unpredictable. One subject's flesh peeled off completely and turned red."

"Ooh, that does sound invigorating. But I don't take chances with these pores."

"And it shows, royal master! Indeed it is difficult to reconcile your obvious wisdom with ze youthful glow of your skin."

The Grandmaster titters, affecting to hide his smile behind a demure hand. "Oh, you!" He turns to Topaz. "I like this one, let's keep him." He glances over at Bucky and Steve, doing their best to slouch back in their weird prison chair. "Give him those two to play with. It can't hurt. Me."

Zola grins widely, looking at Bucky greedily. Bucky gulps. Suddenly looting corpses feels like a pleasant dream from an innocent age. Their obedience disks make a fizzing sound, the world becomes pain, and they black out as their chair jerks back into motion.

=====

It takes Bucky a while to wake up, to be sure he's awake and not still in the endless series of nightmares he's floated in and out of for... for... he's not sure how long. When he wakes up he's in the grubby cell he and Steve share in the arena dungeon, on an alien planet, with space monsters, and it is so, so tempting to file all of THAT nonsense away as probably just a nightmare too, but... nothing could hurt like this in a nightmare.

He's sore, every part of him, with sharp pains like healing cuts scattered all over, new ones to be discovered any time he moves. He has a killer headache, like nothing he's ever felt before. But this is all nothing to the bizarre mix of numbness and agony that is his left arm. He keeps thinking it's gone, turned off, completely without feeling, and then a shooting pain will overtake him, and he'll clutch wildly at it with his right arm, and it's there, he can feel his arm with his right hand, but the arm itself feels... nothing, stiff, like touching someone else's arm.

When he's finally with it enough to think straight, he sits up and takes stock. The cuts he felt are gone now, and he'd think he imagined them save for little marks that looked like scars here and there on his body, as if the cuts were real but had happened months or years ago. He couldn't have been out that long, could he? And his arm...

Fuck.

His arm is gone. His arm is gone and it's not; he has a new arm, a shiny, silvery metal arm in place of his own left arm. He can control it; he discovers this by accident at first, instinctively twitching it in shock when he first sees it, then cautiously moving it on purpose. It's... strange. It doesn't feel like his, like part of him, but it obeys his wishes, in a disconnected sort of way. He laces his fingers together, testing out the dexterity, and sprains half the fingers on his right hand when he accidentally grips too hard. Way too hard. Harder than his real hand ever could have. Shaking his aching right hand loose, he absentmindedly grips his metal bunk—and leaves a handprint behind.

Jesus Christ, what is this? What is _he_?

Someone grips his right shoulder and he startles back against the wall, looking around frantically—

"Buck! Buck, stop, it's me. You were screaming."

He was screaming? His throat is sore. Maybe he was screaming. Oh god, oh god, why is any of this happening. And who—

"Buck? Buddy?"

A blond giant is looking at him with concern, one baseball mitt of a hand still gripping his shoulder, and he knows his—oh god. It's _Steve_. Steve is the giant.

"Steve?" It comes out as a croak. Giant-steve relaxes his grip, pats his shoulder. 

"Yeah, Buck. It's me. It's Steve."

"What... how are you..."

Steve huffs, pleased and trying to hide it. "I uh, well. That head in a box guy had some tricks up his sleeve, I guess. They injected me with that blue stuff, gave me a suntan, and here I am." He looks up at Bucky. "But Buck, what did they do to _you?_ What did they do to your arm?"

Bucky's suspicious peering at Steve's new Adonis look is interrupted by the mention of his arm. "Do to? Do with, more like. It's on the trash heap somewhere. This one ain't mine." He grips his thigh unconsciously and then cringes in pain, forcing the arm to relax. A huge bruise appears on his thigh, and as he frowns down at it, it turns from red to purple to yellow to... "What the hell." He looks up at giant-Steve, trembling. "What did they do to us, Stevie?"

Steve is _grinning_. "I got that too! I think it was the blue stuff." He lets go of Bucky's shoulder and punches himself, hard, on his own thigh. The bruise trick repeats, forming and disappearing as they watch.

"Jesus Christ, Steve, what did you do that for? You're gonna..."

"Hurt myself? That's just it, though. I don't think I _can_ hurt myself any more. Buck. I'm strong. I can _breathe_."

Bucky looks, really looks at Steve. Muscles head to toe. Deep, full breaths—yeah, no more asthma. And that face... "Oh my god. You're going to get in so many fights."

Steve sobers at this, as if he doesn't love scrapping with an unholy glee. "We're slaves in an arena, Bucky. I think that was going to happen anyway."

Bucky breathes out, hard. Okay, good point. Fuck. 

"I... kind of think we're going to win them, though."

Buck's head snaps up. "Oh my god. You like this."

Steve bristles. "Like not being made of wet rags? Like not being two feet tall and getting out of breath thinking too hard? Like not having my heart race from standing up too fast? Gee, why would anyone like that."

"Hey, hey. Settle down, you'll—"

"I'll what? Buck, I'm _healthy_." He looks Bucky in the eyes and goes soft after a few seconds. "Shit, and you're not. God, I'm sorry, I'm being an ass. Does your arm hurt?"

"It... yeah. It does. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm glad you're not sick. I really am."

"Is... Buck, is it okay? That I'm..." And Steve is huge, but he sounds tiny now, smaller than he ever did when he was actually physically small.

Bucky wraps him in a hug on impulse, remembering just in time to edge off with his left arm to avoid crushing him. "Hey, hey, of course it's okay. You're still Steve. That didn't change. I'm with you no matter what, pal. You know that."

"...Okay. Okay." Steve's voice is pure 7-year-old, vulnerable in a way he never let show when he was small. Bucky's going over all mushy about it, feeling tender as a mama cat with a brand new kitten.

"Did it hurt?" Bucky waves vaguely at... all of Steve.

"A little. I'm fine now. But are you..."

Bucky laughs a little hysterically and circles the shoulder of his left arm. The metal plates react by resettling themselves like a row of dominoes tumbling over. Bucky and Steve stare at it wonderingly. "Huh. That's... that's something."

"Yeah. Huh."

"And uh." Bucky gestures at his bunk, at the handprint he left on the metal frame. 

"Bucky," breathes Steve.

"Yeah, it's." He makes a fist and lets it go. "It's strong."

"But it hurts?"

Bucky frowns. "Yeah, it aches something fierce. I guess the blue goo is just good for bruises? If that's what I got."

"You don't remember?"

Bucky laughs. "It's like a nightmare. I think I was drugged. Hell, and I'm glad of it. They had to have..." He looks over at the rough scars at the edge of his new metal arm and starts breathing heavily, starting to panic again.

Steve wraps him back up in a hug, squeezing him tight. He starts to settle down. "I'm sorry, Buck. I'm so sorry."

Bucky huffs. "It is what it is I guess. At least we're still alive. Fuck, Steve. This is all." He waves vaguely in the air with his left hand, then realizes it's his metal left hand and shudders.

"I know. I know. This makes your adventure stories sound tame, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Hey lads," comes a voice from the cell door. Korg. "You ready to go?"

Bucky and Steve exchange a look. "Go?"

Korg looks at them pityingly. "Arena day. Fight day. Time to hit the armoury an' the costumers."

" _Costumers_?"

Korg laughs. "Oh mate, the costume's the least of your worries today."

=====

Bucky is not so sure about that, once he's been issued his fight costume. He's in a metal _skirt_ , like a robot centurion, and there is no corresponding metal underwear, and he cannot decide if that's a relief or horrifying.

Both. Definitely both.

A metal skirt, metal shoulder guards, protecting his impervious metal arm but leaving his nipples hanging out in the breeze, thigh-high leather boots, and a silver blankie he is completely baffled by. Is he going to have a fight picnic? Wave it around like a bull tamer? He considers asking the costumers, who are busily giving him a feathery haircut—his hair is long since he woke up from all the arm business, which he hadn't even noticed, because _Jesus Christ his arm_ —and dabbing on makeup like he's a dame.

And despite all that, he's still miles ahead of Steve. Steve, now sporting an even uglier haircut with a ponytail, with makeup making his crooked nose look even more crooked on purpose, is wearing a corset. _His_ nipples get to hide out under some chest armour, although his shoulders have even more ridiculous armour than Bucky's do. One side has a fin, like a shark, and it's sharp. If Steve manages not to slice an ear off during the fighting it'll be a miracle. Steve's also got a sassy little skirt, not metal like Bucky's but fabric of some kind with stripes. He'd make a heck of a cheerleader. 

Steve does not appreciate this suggestion when Bucky makes it. 

Things somehow get weirder when they hit the armoury. 

"What kind of sword you prefer?" asks a bored-looking grey-skinned fellow.

"Uh... sword?"

"Swoooord. What kind."

Abruptly a screen flickers on nearby, and floating head guy appears. Bucky feels queasy and steps back involuntarily. He doesn't exactly remember what all went on during his extreme makeover party, but he remembers enough to be scared as shit of this guy and his bright ideas for Bucky's future.

"This is the Winter Soldier, the finest marksman in Earth history."

"Arright, what kind of gun do you want."

"Gun?"

Grey-skin guy spits out his... whatever he was chewing. Oh god, and now it's crawling away. He waves his hand in Bucky's face to get his attention. "WHAT KIND OF GUN."

"I've never shot a gun in my life."

Grey-skin guy closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and breathes out slowly, then opens his eyes, grabs a random object from the rack behind him, and shoves it at Bucky. It's a big metal trident. "Here. Enjoy. NEXT."

Next up is Steve, and floating head guy holds a rapid conversation with grey-skinned guy, who is making gestures with increasing incredulity. He finally storms into the back room and comes out with a huge round shield and tosses it at Steve, who catches it and looks... happy. Christ, of course he does. 

"Don't I get a sword too?"

"Nope. Just the shield. It's your gimmick, the man says. It sounds like a stupid gimmick to me, but what do I know, I'm just the expert armourer who's been working this arena for 23 years, let's ask the talking computer screen how to do my job."

"But... but look at me! I'd be so good at stabbing!"

"I'm happy for you. We're closed. Beat it. NEXT."

Bucky takes Steve by the arm and tugs him away. "You can have my salad fork here if you're so dead set on stabbing, buddy."

"Aw, I can't take your weapon, Buck. I'll figure out this shield thing. I bet I could throw it."

"He gets a shield and his first idea is to _throw it away._ Sainted Mary's holy hair cream save me from this idiot."

"I'm serious! This thing feels so... aerodynamic."

"Steve. It's a shield, not an airplane. And what's it made of anyway? It looks like it weighs a hundred pounds."

"Hmm, maybe," murmurs Steve distractedly, then he holds up the shield sideways and flings it out ahead of them.

There's a loud clang; Steve's shield is now embedded in the wall of the dungeon. Noise stops in the yard as everyone turns to stare at them. Bucky's jaw drops.

"Huh, guess I need to work on finesse."

"Steve... you... how..."

Steve looks up, a terrible attempt at coyness on his features. "Guess I don't know my own strength."

Bucky blinks. "You think you're funny, don't you."

Steve sighs. "Look. I know this whole situation is screwed up. But I've been losing fights with kids five years younger than me all my life. So this?" Steve yanks his shield out of the wall with one hand. Several fist-sized chunks of solid stone come loose as he does so. "I want to enjoy this, however long it lasts. Let me have this. Please?"

Bucky sighs. "Hell, I guess I always knew I was gonna die in some fight you got me into."

"That's the spirit!" 

Korg lines them up in the arena chutes, towering over them kindly like he's a little league coach. "Aight, guys, gals, miscellaneous pals. Here's the scoop for you new chums."

Bucky's still a bit thrown by how the talkbots make Korg sound... Australian, maybe? New Zealand? Somewhere far from Brooklyn, that's for sure. But he supposes being made out of actual rock is exotic enough to warrant an accent.

"We're the appetizer, here to warm up the crowd. Go for quick and flashy. Stay safe, stay alive for the next time, but do it with some flair. If you're not entertaining alive, the bosses will make sure you have an entertaining death instead, you follow me?" 

Other new draftees nod nervously, while the old hands wave this off, looking bored. Some of the old hands have really a lot of hands; Brood isn't the only insectoid creature in the mix. Bucky squares his shoulders, makes sure his weird towel is tucked securely in his skirt... belt... thing, and tucks in close to Steve. Screw entertaining, he just wants to stay close enough to keep Rogers from getting punched to death for being a jackass, noble, or a noble jackass. Bucky doesn't know what the situation is in the arena, but he's confident Steve will find a way to reach one of those three states no matter what happens.

A loud gong sounds, stone walls slide open with incongruous smoothness, and Korg is hustling them out to the sands. "Scorpion day!" he mutters, swinging an enormous axe around idly. "Well, been nice knowing you lads."

Scorpion day?

Bucky looks up, only to find that Steve has already run ahead, and is on top of a giant scorpion, ramming his shield into its carapace.

...Scorpion day. 

Scorpion fucking day.

Fuck everything.

Bucky sighs and runs up to join in, jamming his trident between the plates of the scorpion's exoskeleton, then grabbing a second scorpion by the stinger with his metal hand. Huh. Well that's handy. He tries to let go as the scorpion snaps at him with its pincers, but instead snaps the stinger completely off, inspiring the scorpion to skitter away to... lick its wounds? Do scorpions have tongues? 

Bucky's life is full of horrible, boring mysteries lately.

He looks at the stinger in his hand and shakes it loose, looking around for Steve. Predictably, he's in the middle of a cloud of trouble, kicking one scorpion's head off— _kicking its fucking head off, Jesus Christ_ —while sheltering a couple of terrified fellow involuntary gladiators with his shield from another scorpion, while a third sneaks up on them from behind. Bucky runs up and grabs this one by the stinger too, this time swinging it around overhead a few times until the stinger snaps off, flinging the tailless scorpion across the arena. 

Okay, Steve's not the only one who's suddenly really strong, apparently. It was his metal arm, but... he's not even winded. He jumps over to Steve, ten feet away, and... makes it. 

Holy. Shit.

From there it's still a disaster, but kind of a fun one. It turns out that untrained and uninformed as they are, having super strength makes them still more than a match for a couple dozen giant scorpions. Bucky tries not to think about this too hard. Thinking about any part of their new life situation is just a recipe for unhappiness. Don't borrow trouble, Bucky's ma always said. Because Steve has plenty to go around, Steve's ma had always added, usually while patching them up after a fight Steve had started and Bucky had finished.

Well. The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

He's not sure if it's ten minutes or two hours later that they find themselves atop a pile of dead scorpions, Steve holding up his shield and accepting cheers like it's a goddamn parade in his honour. Bucky takes his silver towel and wipes green scorpion... blood? Ichor? off his trident. It doesn't work very well. What _is_ this fucking thing for, anyway? 

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Honoured guests from all races and spaces! Let's have a warm hand for..." the announcer trails off to listen to a whispered missive from a functionary who has run up to his booth. "...for the Grandmaster's newest acquisitions, Captain Merrick and the Windy Soldier!"

Windy? Fuck, whatever, they're alive. Blow winds blow. It's an ill wind that blows no good. Bucky is... maybe a bit dizzy.

Korg appears from behind the stack of scorpions and herds them and their remaining surviving bunkmates—whose numbers have been reduced by about 50%—back into the tunnels.

"Well, you Earth boys don't fool around, do you," he comments approvingly as he chivvies Steve toward the showers, a novel treat apparently reserved for gladiators who survive, covered in glory and/or the bodily fluids of their foes. 

"That was GREAT!" enthuses Steve, bits of chitin falling out of his ponytail as he nods happily.

Bucky has had it. He takes his silver towel and snaps Steve's ass with it.

"Ow! Buck! What's the big idea?"

Hah. So that's what it's for.

=====

Steve's performance with the scorpions makes an impression, apparently; halfway through the next day's work scavenging from the dead, Topaz and a quartet of guards in useless but stylish armour in the piecemeal style that seems to be the local aesthetic show up to haul him off to new quarters and to "be rewarded." When it becomes clear that Bucky isn't invited, Steve pitches a fit, relenting only when Bucky hauls him back from trying to sock a guard and Korg hisses a warning in his ear that protesting isn't going to get him Bucky, it's going to get him killed. Bucky knows that ain't enough to stop Full Steve Ahead, so he adds "play along, you chump. They give you fancier digs for being the scorpion exterminator, maybe you can ask for more next time, right? Besides, you're holding me back, gimme a week and I'll be the scorpion king next time and get the place next door." Bucky has zero intention of going anywhere near another scorpion in his life if he can help it, but there isn't a whole lot he can help just at the moment, so he might even be telling the truth here, who knows. Steve either buys it or has thought of some new, even stupider way to be a pain in the ass that involves waiting to spit on the Grandmaster in person; he settles down and goes along with Topaz.

"Korg? He really getting a reward?" asks Bucky in a small voice as they turn back to their assigned sector of corpse looting.

"Hm? Oh, yeah! Probably. Grandmaster likes a good show. And he likes keeping us in line. The death rays are one way, but the lottery's the real deal. Supposedly any slave can win their freedom by winning their way to the top. Everyone thinks that'll be them, right?"

"Does that actually happen?"

Korg laughs. "How should I know? Champion retires, maybe he goes free, maybe he's what we get for supper."

Bucky blanches at this. The meals are generally a grey stew with indeterminate ingredients, or at least his are. There are a few formats—Brood gets some kind of sugar/blood slurry in a translucent bag—but they're all unappealing and vaguely meaty. He's really, really regretting taking this time to speculate on where the meat comes from.

Korg grips his shoulder reassuringly, and luckily it's his metal shoulder, because Korg's stony grip is nothing to trifle with. "But in between the likes of us and the champion? Yeah, there's rewards. Seen guys get bumped up to nicer digs, nicer food, nicer sex. Seen 'em get tossed back down in with us, too. It's all a game, that's how the Grandmaster likes it. Keep us scrabbling for position instead of starting a revolution."

Bucky frowns. "If you know that, why don't you start a revolution? I mean, guys look up to you, Korg, they'd listen."

Korg laughs again. "Oh, I have! Twice. I need to improve my pamphlet writing skills, though, mate, because it fell flat both times. First time is how I landed in this joint."

Bucky gulps. "And the second? They didn't death ray you?"

Korg grins. "Oh, no, they shot me with a death ray. But, well." He knocks on his knee with one stony fist. Some pebbles crumble off, but he looks unconcerned. "Made of rock, ain't I? Death ray didn't do much. The obedience disks, that's another matter. They turned mine on for like 3 days after that, and I don't fancy a repeat of that little holiday. But killing me, nah, I reckon they don't know how."

"Huh."

"So your chum there's fine. He'll be having a right feast tonight, prolly sitting on silk sheets cuddling a lapful of lady tigers, or whatever it is he fancies."

Bucky pictures this and giggles, a little hysterical after the events of the last few days. The quartermaster looks up from his desk sharply and Bucky hurriedly gets back to work.

=====

It's a full ten days before Bucky sees Steve again. His turn in the arena comes and goes—this time it's divide and conquer; the arena grunts are split into two teams and set against each other. Bucky, thank god, is on the same team as Korg. Korg may be the den mother to them all when they're in the barracks, but he's a practical fellow; he sets to slaughtering the other team with his usual aplomb. Bucky shrugs and does the same. He's not on bad terms with any of them, but without Steve here, there's no one he'd risk a death ray for. Bucky and Korg come out on top, along with seven other surviving members of their team, and troop back to the showers.

"Jesus," mutters Bucky, looking around the echoing emptiness of the shower room. "Life's cheap in this here hotel."

"Probably means they got a new shipment of slaves in," puts in Korg, who is showering for some reason. Who knew rocks cared about cleanliness? Maybe it reminds him of having a waterfall in his youth or something. "This is cheaper than building new cells, and more crowd-pleasing to boot."

Bucky shivers. He finishes his precious shower, wipes himself off ineffectively with his silver towel, and dresses in the tatters that are left of the outfit he'd been wearing when they were kidnapped. It's getting pretty beat-up, but he's damned if he'll wear the metal skirt get-up a second longer than he has to.

"C'mon mate, let's go watch the big leagues. If your boy's alive, he's probably the star attraction."

He is. By the time Korg lifts Bucky up high enough to peer through the slats of the fence into the arena, Steve is holding his shield up and grinning hugely as the crowd cheers wildly. A pile of groaning bodies, presumably his competitors, are writhing limply in the center of the arena. 

"Captain Meridian, everyone! A warm round of applause for the Captain! I hope he enjoys it while he can, because here comes... THE INCINERATOR!"

Ear-shattering drumming noises fill the air and a stone door taller than their tenement back home opens, to reveal a creature tall enough to need to duck down to fit through the entrance, covered in lizard-like scales and, fuck, _breathing actual fire._ Oh god oh god Bucky is going to watch Steve be cooked alive and there's nothing he can—

The fire stops. There's a metal disk embedded in the creature's windpipe, and then Steve, who has fucking leapt up the thirty feet or so to reach it, is pulling it out and jamming it into its brainpan. The creature totters and then falls over, seemingly dead. Steve leaps up to stand on its haunch, and holds his shield high again. The crowd is eating it up, there's a chant of CAP-TAIN! CAP-TAIN! CAP-TAIN! starting. Korg joins in.

What the hell.

"CAP-TAIN! CAP-TAIN!" shouts Bucky.

=====

Steve is expecting to hit the showers in his new apartment after the arena fight. He sweated right through his corset watching Bucky escape death in the opening rounds, and after his own fight, killing off twenty of... whatever those guys were, and then The Former Incinerator, he is _rank_. Instead, a quartet of guards, led by what he now recognizes as one of Topaz's chief lieutenants, divert him to an area of the arena much, much cleaner than any he has seen so far, even his rather nice upgraded living quarters. The walls are actually glittering. He feels dirtier just being near them in his current disheveled state.

The glitter intensifies until they arrive at a kind of sparkle singularity in the form of the Grandmaster's viewing box. The Grandmaster starts clapping, looking around at the other guards and servants for agreement. "Captain Numerical, everyone! Isn't he great?" A few of the guards half-heartedly join in. Topaz claps once. 

"Captain, Captain, Numie—can I call you Numie?—so glad to see you, come in, come in."

"It's Steve, actua—"

Topaz coughs.

"Numie's fine," he amends.

"Hmm, no, no, no fire to it. Numie, Numero, hmm. Cap! You can be Cap. Isn't that sassier? Cap."

"Uh... sure." Steve replies, not that the Grandmaster seems to be looking for employee buy-in here.

"So! Cap. You've done it, honey, you're this week's lucky winner! You've defeated my fierce Incinerator, nice job by the way, won't be cheap getting another one of those puppies, and you have earned a boon! A boon from the beneficent Grandmaster's hand!"

"Oh, um, thanks!" Steve remembers now the rumours of freedom whispered about in the barracks. "Do I win my freedom?"

The Grandmaster laughs. "Hah! His freedom. Oh my, no. But whatever you desire! Name it and it will be yours!"

"Uh... Bucky's freedom? He's the... the Winter Soldier, the one I uh... joined up with?" Steve has been here long enough to know that saying they were kidnapped and enslaved to the Grandmaster's face would be a bad move, health-wise.

The Grandmaster looks at him, unimpressed. "I don't think you understand my business model, sweetcheeks. If I set the stars free, I have no stars. No stars, no show. No show... Well. I don't think you'd like it if I were bored."

Steve gulps. He finds this very believable.

"So a reasonable boon. Chop chop, I'm not getting any younger, although you'd never know by looking, am I right?" He looks over at Topaz expectantly.

"Your youthful glow is dismaying to scientists the galaxy over," she pronounces flatly.

"Yes, yes, isn't it?" He swings his gaze back to Steve. "Now. Boon."

"Uh... Bucky... Bucky..." Shit shit shit there's got to be _something_ he can do for Buck. He's strong as anything now, but even so, it was pure luck that he wasn't slaughtered this morning. "Bucky as my concubine!" he blurts out.

The Grandmaster stops in his tracks and looks into the middle distance. "Concubine," he mutters. "Oh, yes. Yes. I like it. All those," he squeezes Steve's biceps. "all those muscles rubbing against each other, ooh, it gives me shivers, doesn't it give you shivers, Topaz?"

Topaz shrugs.

"Yes, you shall have him as your concubine! Guards! Fetch the Window Soldier immediately. And get them some oil. Mmm, a lot of oil. Yes." He pats Steve's pecs for good measure, then steps back, eyes dancing. He winks hugely. Oh god, what has Steve gotten them into? Still, it's better than fighting to the death, right?

Steve really, really hopes Bucky agrees.

=====

Bucky knows his performance in the arena was satisfactory, nothing more. He had survived it, which was impressive in itself, but he wasn't the kind of flashy that earned rewards in this place. So when a quartet of guards showed up to escort him out of the barracks, he was not expecting any good to come of it. Korg's face was closed off as he watched him leave, and then he turned away, slow and deliberate, no doubt consigning Bucky's memory to the same place he'd put his friendship with the opposing team they'd slaughtered that morning. Compartmentalization was the only way to cope with this life.

Bucky was... not coping so good.

The guards bring him to an opulent room with a throne, though not the same one where they'd first met the Grandmaster, and Bucky doubles down on his panic. He had definitely not done anything worthy of praise from the big man himself, but had he fucked up enough to warrant punishment from him? He wouldn't put it past him to punish random slaves on a whim if he was bored, but he seemed to enjoy having a narrative of some kind to be the star of. What had Bucky _done_?

They draw closer to the throne and his thoughts switch tracks, because there's Steve, looking sheepish. Christ, what had _Steve_ done? He was alive, at least. They were both alive and now Steve was striding toward him, they were alive for now and he could even touch him and that had to be good enough right now, even if—

"Please, please don't punch me for this," whispers Steve, then catches Bucky's face in both of his now-huge hands, and plants a sloppy kiss on him.

What.

Bucky is too startled to kiss back. He's not... I mean he'd always... But he didn't think... His brain's librarian just grinds to a halt, unable to retrieve the book of Bucky's love for Steve at this moment. It is shelved deep, deep in the catacombs of I Must Never and definitely nowhere near the horrifying stacks where Shit That Goes Down On This Horrible Planet is filed.

He's glad Steve has a firm grip on him, because that metaphor was convoluted enough to trip over, Jesus.

Steve is _kissing_ him. Steve is—

Steve is urgently whispering "Buck. PLAY ALONG."

Oh. Oh this is... an act? Bucky closes the door on the tidal wave of complicated feelings _that_ triggers and kisses back. Well. What the hell, right? This is not the first time Rogers has gotten them into weird trouble, and as usual, Bucky is just along for the ride until the punching starts.

The punching does not start, though. Clapping does. The Grandmaster is applauding their smooch, and waving at... it's one of the costumers from the Arena, and in an unsurprising lack of character development, he has another skirt. But where their combat skirts are rough and ready and y'know, make clanking noises, this one is lacy and filmy and definitely for sure 100% not opaque even a little bit. Topaz grunts at him and Bucky scrambles to strip and get redressed, too afraid of Topaz's... everything to bother with shame at this particular moment. The costumer is clipping something to his hair, a veil made of the same translucent boudoir nonsense, and handing him—

Of course. Handing him the fucking silver towel. Whatever would he do without it.

More servants are approaching them, two for Steve and two for him, and they begin pouring oil on all their exposed skin, which for Bucky is quite a large area in this new outfit. Pouring oil on and rubbing it in, like they're statues that need polishing. The Grandmaster waves them away after a few minutes, then gestures enthusiastically at Steve, an expectant look on his face.

Steve takes hold of Bucky's biceps and leans in, whispering hurriedly: "I'm so sorry. I'll explain tonight, I promise, this will all make sense later." 

Bucky _sincerely_ doubts that, but it doesn't matter; he's never insisted Rogers make sense. You can't push a rope.

Steve is manhandling him, mashing their chests together, and, and _moaning_. Bucky has no doubt he's trying to sound sensual, but it reminds him more of Sarah Rogers's stories of banshees from the old country than anything. Bucky's nipples grate against Steve's corset, which he notes has been upgraded since he saw Steve last. It's still stripes, but now there are little gems and pearls sewn in as decoration. The pearls have bloodstains, and Bucky is suddenly glad for the over-the-top fragrance of the oil, because now that he's this close—very, _very_ close—to Steve, it's clear that he's still covered in all the sweat and ichor and brainmatter and blood of an arena bout. He must have been sent straight from the arena floor here, to... do... whatever is currently happening.

What IS currently happening, anyway? Bucky joins in the moaning for good measure, in case that's important, and Steve flashes him a quick thumbs up out of the Grandmaster's line of sight. Well okay then. He rubs himself up against Steve and runs his hands through Steve's oily sweaty hair, and it's a good thing there are terrifying deathray guns a few feet away, because otherwise Bucky would have an embarrassing pants situation right now, and he's _not wearing pants_.

"Nnngh! Oh this is precious. Topaz, sweetheart, send the video of that to my pleasure craft and find me some party guests. Oh yes, you two are just _effervescent._ But a bit too fresh-smelling for my party. Off to Cappie's quarters, boys, and—" the Grandmaster leans in close to them, leering. "—have some fun in the shower."

He flounces back to his throne and waves. Four burly guards lean down to reach for handles Bucky hadn't noticed before, and carry the Grandmaster, throne and all, out of the room, presumably to his party boat. Bucky has never been so glad not to be invited to a party in his life. Topaz stamps her bedpost staff thing on the floor twice. A servant appears, bows in front of Steve, and leads them out of the room in another direction. Steve grabs Bucky's hand and tugs him along in his wake. Now what? Wherever they're being led, Bucky hopes it's heated. This outfit is drafty.

=====

Steve's room is red. Very red. And white. It's like a red cross relief meeting, except for the bed being a giant skull. Bucky's never actually been to a relief meeting but he's always assumed they involved scarves and bandages and so forth rather than skulls the size of a tugboat full of silk pillows and oh god what is even happening?

"Steve? What is even happening?"

Steve sits down on the skull bed and scrubs a hand through his hair. "Oh boy. Where to start."

"The smooching? Then the Grandmaster, then the skull bed, then—" Bucky pauses. "—then I need a break. If there's any more stuff after that, I need, like, at least an hour before I hear about it."

Steve is rapidly turning red to match the décor. "The ah, smooching. Right. Well. Um. So the Grandmaster, he, uh, he made me choose a reward? And I tried to set you free, Buck, I tried! But he didn't... it's not his business model? He said. So I."

Rogers winds down, jaw working a bit, seemingly unable to force the next part out.

"So you..." Bucky raises his eyebrows expectantly, although the effect is a little less imposing than it usually is with him in this diaphanous get-up. Shit. Speaking of that. Bucky stalks over to the bed and tugs one of the sheets loose and drapes it over his shoulders. He can almost hear his testicles sigh in relief, now that they are no longer hanging in the breeze.

"Steve? So you..."

Steve coughs. "So I asked, um. For you as a concubine. Buck it was the only thing he would—I mean you've met him, he's like—"

Bucky bursts out laughing. "Concubine? Like in 1001 nights?" Between the laughter, the shock, the day of fighting, the lack of lunch, and fuck, the altitude, who knows, Bucky is having trouble staying upright. He slumps down on the bed next to Steve, giggling into his shoulder helplessly. "Rogers, you are something else. So I'm your harem now? That's what the smooching is about?"

Steve is firetruck red and looks like he's about to vibrate to pieces. "That's... yeah, pretty much that's..." He stops and grips Bucky in a huge bear hug, crushing his head into his meaty pecs. "Bucky, I watched your match. I was so afraid you were gonna die. I just... I wanted you out of there, no matter what, and I... I'm sorry but... No. I'm not sorry. Buck, if you... I..." 

Bucky is spun around as hell, but he knows what to do with a freaked out Steve Rogers. He wriggles loose from the hug and frames Steve's face with his hands. "Hey. Hey. Breathe with me. In. Out. I'm here. I'm alive. IN. Breathe in."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "Buck, I'm pretty sure I don't have asthma anymore. Since the..." Steve waves his hand vaguely at his muscled physique. "You know." 

"You sure, pal? You're breathing pretty hard for a guy without asthma."

Steve turns, if possible, redder. "Yeah well. It's been an exciting morning." He fidgets uncomfortably, trying to inch away from Bucky despite having hauled him into his lap not thirty seconds earlier. Make up your mind, Roge—oh. Ohhhh.

Bucky is sitting on Steve's erection. Well that's. That's. 

Bucky's been frozen a bit too long; Steve physically picks him up and sets him aside, and oh Christ, Steve's not the only one with an erection now.

Steve curls down into a ball, face in his hands. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Whoah, hey, Stevie." Bucky rubs a hand over Steve's head gently with one hand, and uses the other—the metal one, but he's getting pretty good with it—to pry Steve's hands away from his face, like he's shucking the oyster of sadness. "Don't be sorry. We're on some fucked-up hell-planet and you just rescued me from the intramural stabbing league and you don't got one thing in the world... Uh. In the galaxy? Whatever. You don't got one single thing to be sorry about, pal." Steve is a million times stronger than he was two weeks ago, but Bucky's new hand is stronger still, and after a moment Steve gives up on trying to brute force his way back into hiding and sits up, tears streaming down his face.

"I don't mean... I mean. I mean this." Steve slaps his dick. Yeowch! Bucky cringes in sympathy. "I mean I panicked and picked the queerest way to rescue you ever and you're stuck with me and—" Bucky slaps his right hand over Steve's mouth and waits for him to trail off.

"Steven Grant Rogers, if you think that matters one iota to me, I am frankly insulted."

"But Buck, I—"

"Who beat the shit out of Iggy Nichols when he tried to punch Eddie down the block for being a fairy?"

"That don't count, I started the fight, you were just—"

"Of course you started the fight. That is your mission in life, starting stupid fights. Look," Bucky rubs his forehead wearily. "I'm saying this wrong. It don't matter about the fight. What I mean is, if you're queer, I'm not angry. I'm so far from angry I'd need a week's pay for the cabfare to get to angry."

Steve clenches his jaw. "You don't get it, Buck. I dragged you into this and now... we have to pretend. We both have to pretend, or Grandmaster will... and you never agreed... you're not even..." He sinks his head into his hands again. "I might as well be a rapist, fuck. I didn't exactly rescue you."

"What are you on about? We have to pretend what?"

"To be... lovers. At least in front of everyone. Or else they'll take you away. But—"

"Hold up. So. Instead of having a death sentence, I have to cuddle you? And you think I'm upset about it? Chrissakes, Rogers, we did that all last winter when you kept getting pneumonia and couldn't stay warm in your own bed."

"But that wasn't... You didn't know that I... I mean I would never have, ever, but..." Steve tries on excuses for feeling guilty like he's shopping for shoes. "I made you kiss me in front of an audience without even askin' your leave and, and, I _enjoyed it_. You don't deserve—"

Bucky bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, you idiot."

Steve looks up, confused. "What?"

"Stop wallowing and kiss me, dipshit."

"What?" Steve looks anguished and utterly, utterly lost. "What?"

"Stop. Talking. And kiss me. Because I enjoyed it too. Asshole."

Steve's mouth drops open, and Bucky decides this is the best he's going to get and leans in for a sloppy but gentle kiss. He pulls back and resettles himself on Steve's lap. Steve, poleaxed, does not resist; his hands fall on Bucky's hips seemingly without any input from his brain. Bucky leans in and rests his forehead against Steve's.

"You're not the only queer Brooklyn boy on this planet, okay?"

"Buh?" 

"Christ, did I break you? Wake up, pal."

Steve blinks rapidly, then tightens his hands on Bucky's hips. "You're... how come you never said?"

Bucky looks up at the ceiling, exasperated. "How come I never said. How come _I_ never said. Probably the same reason as you, doofus. How come you never said?"

Steve frowns. "Because I didn't think you... and anyway, it's illegal, and..."

"Mr. Injustice of the Week over here says it's illegal. Oh, of course, that explains everything, obeying the law is your _top priority_ , ask any cop in the borough—"

"Because I was afraid, all right?" Steve interrupts in a small voice.

Bucky stops gesturing wildly and reaches up to stroke Steve's cheek softly. "There it is."

Steve looks stubborn, and oh god, why is that so, so comforting? Bucky cracks a gentle smile. 

"Well, I was afraid too, okay? But here we are—" Bucky waves at the red and white aesthetic disaster surrounding them on their giant skull bed, then shudders and decides to stop thinking about that part. "—here we are on a freaking alien planet, we might die tomorrow because we are literally gladiators, a creepy clown king with death rays wants to watch us make out, and we have a friend who is an actual rock. I just... I have a lot more things to be afraid of now. And I was hoping we could be afraid of them together."

Steve's face is trying to portray about eight different emotions at once, without notable success at any of them. "You... really?"

"I really."

Steve shoots him a dirty look. "You know what I mean."

Bucky kisses him softly. "Yeah, Steve. I do."

Steve finally, finally relaxes and kisses him back. "Oh."

Bucky nods, smiling, then starts to giggle, then Steve joins in and falls over backwards on the bed, pulling Bucky down with him.

"This fucking day, Buck."

Bucky can't stop laughing, and nothing is funny, every absurd little piece of their situation is so serious that now _everything_ is funny, there's just no other option. "This fucking day? This fucking week. This fucking fortnight." 

Steve is gasping now, huge breaths that sound as much like crying as laughing. "Fucking. Fortnight! Fuckafortnight," he wheezes.

"Hey, hey, settle down. Deep breaths." Bucky tugs Steve's head into his chest. "Deep breaths."

"It's just... a lot," manages Steve when his breathing eventually settles down.

"You said it, doll. You said it."

They lie in comfortable silence for a while, and finally Steve wriggles free and walks over to a closet, returning with a couple of pairs of loose slacks, gloriously bland in design compared to their ridiculous costumes. "You want to change, maybe?"

"Oh my god, yes." Bucky snatches at them and hurriedly snakes out of the cello-tape outfit he is still... wearing is a strong word for the way his costume barely clings to him, but it's over now, is his point. The pants are too big for him, sized for Steve's new bulk, but they have a drawstring, so, close enough. They're _opaque_ , which makes them _amazing_ at this point in Bucky's sartorial career.

"There are so many horrible things about this place that it feels petty to complain about the clothing, but Jesus wept, the clothing around here."

"I know!"

Bucky thinks they might have dissolved into another round of hysterical giggling at this point if they weren't so worn out. Christ, it's still the day of the arena fighting, how is it still the same day? He scoots up the bed, avoiding eye contact with the creepy skull parts, and crawls under the blanket. Steve crawls in after him, then hesitates; Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls Steve into him. Steve stiffens, then relaxes and lets himself be positioned as Bucky curls around him. Steve's taller and bigger than Bucky now, but Bucky wraps him up in his arms as if he's still tiny, and it feels like the first right thing in a long time. Steve's ear is resting against Bucky's chest, listening to his heart beat, and Oh. Steve's hearing is good enough now to actually hear his heart beating, not just feel it faintly as a vibration against his skin. Having the sound of his heart, so long hidden, be revealed to Steve now just feels so poignant and deep and this probably means Bucky really, really needs some sleep. Steve, exhausted, has started to snore softly, and Bucky lets the sound of it lull him into sleep.

====

Exhausted by the arena, the audience with His Clownliness, and the emotional nonsense afterwards, Bucky sleeps in late, which itself is an indicator of how changed his circumstances are. He feels a bit guilty for a moment, thinking of his erstwhile compatriots in the dungeon, probably long since hard at work and elbow deep in blood while he slept, then shakes his head. "Fuck that, I didn't sign up for the slave corps," he mutters, and looks around for Steve. Steve, bless him, is approaching with breakfast on a tray. Breakfast is full of foodstuffs utterly unknown to him, but it looks a lot more like food than the slop in the barracks. Particularly, it _smells_ a lot more like food. Some of it is clearly fruit, there's a tempting hot beverage that smells a little like Ovaltine, a glass of some delicately flavoured almost-water, and a big not-omelette that tastes somewhere halfway between a grilled cheese sandwich and a potato casserole. After two weeks of Mysterious Grey Lump Sludge, it's heavenly. He's into a second plate of it before he comes back to earth and notices Steve staring at him, fond but anxious. 

"Hmm? What's got you twitchy, Steve?"

"Well... I've got good news and bad news."

"Spit it out."

"We don't have any work to do until the next arena day. We could probably go for a walk later if you want. There's an arboretum, s'pretty."

"And the bad news..."

"They uh, delivered some new clothes. Some new, mandatory clothes. You uh. You're not gonna like 'em."

Steve holds up a sparkly piece of lingerie. It makes yesterday's get-up look like a parka.

"Where's the rest of it."

"This... is the rest of it."

Bucky looks at Steve flatly. "You're right. I don't like 'em." Bucky sighs. "When you say mandatory..."

"Not all the time!" Steve interjects hastily. "I mean, not in here anyway. But come supper time, the Grandmaster likes to show off the... featured talent. That's me. And he is wishful that you, uh. Attend me."

"Attend you, eh? Does that involve making out while he eats his appetizer?"

Steve sighs heavily. "Probably?"

Bucky picks up the so-called garment, delicately lest he tear even more holes in it. "You'd better keep me warm, Rogers."

Steve turns red. "I uh. I think that's kind of the point."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "You gonna turn pink like that every time you look at this thing?"

Steve squeaks. "Maybe?"

"Hmm. Maybe we should practice first. If it's like the arena, we want to be... entertaining."

Steve is hiding his face in his hands. "Yeah, probably," says a muffled voice.

Bucky laughs. "Oh my god, you're precious."

Steve sits up, bristling. "'M not precious!"

"Sorry. Don't make the rules. You're adorable."

"You're making fun of me."

"You just get here? I've been making fun of you since I was eight, Rogers."

"...okay, true."

"Look, if I have to wear this flimsy excuse for underwear with a straight face, I am going to milk every drop of amusement I can out of your reaction to it."

"I guess that's fair."

"Wait, what are you wearing?"

"Oh, my arena costume. Well, sort of. There's like a dress version that's... shinier. And has less blood and stuff."

"Uh huh. Well, suit up, let's take this for a spin."

=====

When Steve wanders out of the bathroom a few minutes later, in his battle corset & skirt, which is indeed very, very sparkly compared to the fight-day version, his jaw drops. Bucky, scowling, is trying to wrangle one flimsy strap over his metal shoulder without breaking it. "Oh pick up your jaw and come help me," he growls. 

_Yes sir_ , thinks Steve, and walks toward him so fast he almost trips. Smooth, Rogers. He slips a pinky under the strap and slides it in to place on Bucky's metal shoulder. Bucky shivers.

"Huh, can you feel that?" Steve glides his finger along the metal plates of Bucky's shoulder.

"Hmm? Oh, sort of. It's... muted. Like trying to hear someone talking in the next car of the subway."

"Oh."

Bucky picks up his silver towel and settles it around his neck like a scarf. "I'm shivering because I'm fucking cold."

"Oh!" Steve steps closer. "Oh." Bucky steps in close to him, and hell, he is cold. Steve wraps his arms around him, stroking his back with one hand and tucking Bucky's head under his chin. Which just... fits there, like they were made to fit together.

Actually, if Dr. Floating Head was taking direction from the Grandmaster, they might actually have been made to fit together. Steve shudders and tries not to think about this. Bucky seems to take the shudder to be for more pleasant reasons and starts mouthing at Steve's clavicle and oh God, if those evil madmen made them fit together, then three cheers for evil madmen, because this is _amazing_. 

Steve moans softly and Bucky looks up from what he's doing, a smug smirk on his face. "Yeah?" Steve grins wickedly and leans down to kiss it off his face. Bucky is startled by Steve's aggression, but melts into it, letting Steve take control. Steve is pink, yeah, okay, but this is _not_ his first barbecue. He's no great shakes with dames; his disastrous double dates with Bucky are about his only practice there, and none of them had been successful in even the most charitable interpretation. But with gents, well, Steve may have been scared to tell his best friend he was in love with him, but the boys at the docks didn't need him to tell them anything. A raised eyebrow and his sweet little twink body was quite enough.

Oh shit, is he going to have to top? He falters a moment in his confident kissing, but Bucky picks up the slack, kissing down his jaw, into the crook of his neck, oh god, oh god, down his chest, takes a nipple in between his teeth. "NNGNNH," explains Steve. Bucky grunts, pleased, and picks Steve up by the hips and carries him back to bed. Steve hadn't realized he missed this, missed being carried around like he weighs nothing. When he actually did weigh nothing it just grated on his nerves, but now that he's... well, an enormous hunk. Is it vain to think that? He's still little Steve inside his mind, and little Steve would, frankly, buy an autographed poster of big Steve to jerk off to. Now that he's big, well, being treated like he's little is just... sweet.

Bucky seems to realize the incongruity as he leans over Steve, having to hitch himself farther up the bed to bring their faces back level. "Is this okay? I mean, me being on top..." 

Steve hunches into himself, trying to make himself small. "I like it," he admits. "When you're in charge."

Bucky's eyes widen and a huge grin spreads on his face. "I'm in charge, am I?"

"In charge in _bed_ ," Steve adds hastily.

Bucky waves a hand dismissively. "Eh, still a promotion." He fits his mouth over Steve's and ends the discussion in the best way possible, hands unfastening the hooks on Steve's arena corset as he kisses him. 

"Weren't we practicing for dinner? We're not doing this at dinner, are we?" asks Steve when Bucky pauses for breath.

"Rogers," replies Bucky. "Shut up."

Steve shuts up. Bucky has him completely out of his costume in under a minute, and his own at the same time. Or maybe his just dissolved from ambient humidity; it is—was?—really, really not a substantial garment. Steve is not that invested in finding out, because Bucky is holding Steve's cock in one warm hand and priority crash transmission, crotch to brain, RED ALERT RED ALERT ALL UNITS NOTE THIS IS LIKE, SUPER GREAT.

Steve is still soaking in this feeling when Bucky's other hand drifts against his backside, parting his cheeks, and starts circling his entrance slowly. 

"Buck, hold up a second."

Bucky lets go of him entirely, jerking back. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry, Steve, I—"

"What? No! No, that was good. That was great. That was—I just—hang on." Steve gives up on that sentence and darts into the washroom briefly, returning with a small bottle marked in some alien script. "Just getting..." he trails off, pressing the bottle into Bucky's hands. Bucky flips the cap open, frowning, and pours out a trickle of what turns out to be the same scented oil that had been rubbed all over them in the throne room. He grins and looks back up at Steve, who is blushing furiously.

"I uh. Noticed it in the bathroom earlier." he mumbles.

" _Good boy_ ," says Bucky huskily, and Steve's brain just locks up at that. He lets out a tiny whimper. Bucky pounces on it, his hand back on Steve's cock, his lips against his ear. "You like that, honey? You like being my good boy?"

Steve nods, squirming into Bucky's chest, making himself small again.

Bucky kisses the top of his head and presses his fingertip, now coated generously in oil, slowly into Steve's hole. Steve keens and leans into it. 

"Like that too," he manages breathlessly. And does he ever, god. The metal by rights should feel cold and hard and alien, but it's warm like the rest of Bucky, and the hardness is disguised by the gentle motion it is engaged in, stroking softly and reverently deeper inside. It doesn't matter if it's new or strange; it seems there's no part of Bucky that could ever feel wrong to Steve. 

A second metal finger slips in next to the first, and Bucky's hand on his cock speeds up a bit. "Buck, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby boy."

 _Baby boy,_ Jesus Christ. Steve comes.

"There you go, sweetheart." He is clenching against Bucky's fingers, and they just keep _going_ , the violent strength they have transmuted to a softer purpose.

"Bucky, Bucky," pants Steve.

"What do you need, honey?"

"Want you. Unh. Want you inside me."

Bucky's eyes light up. "Whaddaya know, I want that too." He slowly withdraws... three? When did the third finger go in? Well, Steve was distracted. He withdraws his fingers and fiddles with the bottle of oil for a moment, then presses the slicked up head of his cock against Steve's already loose opening, sliding in smoothly. Bucky gasps as he moves. "Oh god. You're so tight. You're so..."

"Uh huh," moans Steve, mouthing at Bucky's shoulder. "You too," he says. He's not exactly sure what he means by that, but he means it 100%. 

"God, the way you feel," says Bucky, breathing deeply in and out a few times before adjusting Steve's position a bit, tugging one leg up over his shoulder, and starting to move inside him, slowly, firmly, and Steve—

"Holy shit, are you hard again already?" asks Bucky, running a finger incredulously down Steve's, yes, very hard cock.

"Unhhh," explains Steve.

"They didn't fool around when they fixed you up, did they?" asks Bucky, increasing his speed and stroking Steve's cock in rhythm with his thrusts. "God."

Steve is panting again. "Oh god. Buck. M'gonna."

"You gonna come for me again?"

"Uh huh," replies Steve, and he's going to, he's so close, he's... oh god, he's clenching on Bucky's _cock_ , and this is the best thing since... since... 

"Good boy," whispers Bucky, and Steve loses it, he's coming so hard. Distantly he realizes Bucky is coming too, can feel him coming _inside of him_ , can feel his hot spend gushing deep inside him.

He has wanted Bucky for a long, long time, but he never thought he could have him. But here he is, closer to him than he imagined was even possible, and everything outside of this bubble of togetherness is so fucked up and weird and probably deadly, and none of it matters, because he's here, with Bucky in every way, and it's so perfect. 

Bucky is brushing fingers against Steve's wet cheeks and Steve realizes he's been crying. Bucky's other hand is stroking his hair, and he's muttering soothing things. Steve sniffles disgustingly and nuzzles his head against Bucky's cheek, and Bucky's gotta be part cat, because Steve could swear that he hears him purr.

"This concubine gig ain't half bad," murmurs Bucky. There's a pause for a long second, then Steve cracks up, and Bucky joins in, and they're sticky and sweaty and tangled up and killing themselves laughing, and just right now, tucked together like this, impossible and smug, everything seems like it might just be okay.

======

They untangle in time to shower and re-dress for dinner. Bucky's outfit did not in fact dissolve, or else he found a new one in the disturbingly full closet. A guard escorts them to the dining hall, waving them over to a single chair a few tables over from the Grandmaster. Bucky shrugs and motions Steve to sit down, then sits on his lap, and it's no trouble at all to look cuddly and smitten whenever the Grandmaster looks over for a little titillation. And also whenever he doesn't; the weather is very cuddly out in Steve-and-Bucky-land. Dinner is nothing Bucky recognizes, but it's clearly food, which is more than could be said for the barracks meals. It smells appetizing and tastes good, if a bit strange. One of the spices makes his tongue tingle a bit, but nothing goes numb or anything, and honestly, being poisoned is probably one of the better ways to go on this godforsaken planet. He tucks his head under Steve's chin and closes his eyes, just enjoying the feeling of being full and warm and safe.

After dinner, the Grandmaster stands up to make an announcement and all of that good feeling shatters.

"My captain and his concubine! Aren't they sweet? But there's trouble in paradise, my court! The game is afoot! Tomorrow I will be pleased to present, for my amusement and yours, the epic battle of... Captain Numerical vs. The Window Soldier!"

Bucky's eyes fly open, shocked. Before he can do more than that, guards have seized both his arms and are hauling him away from Steve. Steve is yelling and struggling, and Bucky flexes his metal arm, freeing it momentarily from the guard, and tries to run to Steve. The obedience disc at his neck buzzes harshly, and his world dissolves into pain and he blacks out.

======

Bucky is at least kept in nice quarters as he awaits the most terrible day of his life. He has a plush bed to lie awake in, in a bedroom as enthusiastically blue as Steve's was red. In the morning, he's supplied with a lavish breakfast which he has no appetite for. He eats it mechanically anyway. He's learned that his new arm, or maybe just the new strength that came with it, comes with the need for more fuel than he's used to.

He makes a show of refusing to get dressed in his armour when the guards show up with his old outfit, silver towel and all, but one of them rolls his eyes and turns his obedience disc to the "searing pain but still conscious" setting for a minute or two, and Bucky pisses himself screaming, and then placidly gets dressed as ordered after a quick shower to hose off the urine. Dignity is not on the menu today.

The arena is a sea of noise, the crowd screaming out "CAP-TAIN, CAP-TAIN," or booing at him, or just yelling for the pure pleasure of it perhaps. Steve is already in the centre of the field; their fellow gladiators are lined up along the edges of the arena, god only knows why, but probably not for any reason Bucky will enjoy finding out.

Bucky walks up to Steve, but stops short of touching him, hand brushing at his obedience disc nervously. Fuck, he hates this, he hates everything about this, but especially in this moment he hates that he is obeying without even thinking. He forces himself to reach out a hand to Steve. Both of their obedience discs buzz warningly and they let their hands drop, but not before Steve squeezes his hand, hard. It's something.

"A moment of silence, my hearty audience! A moment of silence before we see true love die on the sands! Two lovers have entered, but only one will leave! Will it be the Captain of Numbers? Or the Window So—"

The announcer's voice breaks off as he takes in what is happening: Steve has dropped his shield, grabbed Bucky's trident, and hurled it toward the Grandmaster's viewing box, faster and harder than should be possible. There are guards aplenty around him, but the Grandmaster, keen to see them spill their loving blood, had wandered to the edge of his balcony to watch the show. He is struck squarely by the trident, which pierces him through the _face_ and then _keeps going_ , exiting the far side of his skull and lodging itself, quivering, in his plush throne.

"Oh my gods, have mercy on us, the Grandmaster has—the Grandmaster has—" the announcer drops the mic and just leaves, apparently possessing some sense in his vapid little brain.

The Grandmaster has fallen over dead, is what the Grandmaster has. 

"Steve," breathes Bucky. Steve pants heavily, his face the picture of righteous fury. He turns to Bucky and takes his face in both hands.

"Buck. I couldn't... I can't lose you."

" _Steve_ ," repeats Bucky, then leans in to kiss him fiercely before pulling back to see what on earth is going to happen next.

Or no, not on Earth. On Sakaar. Christ his life is strange.

Chaos reigns in the aftermath; the crowd is wild in a hushed, nervous way. Guards swarm on to the sands and hold Steve and Bucky at death-ray-point until some fifteen minutes later, when Topaz strides out onto the arena floor, spattered in blood, carrying a body over one shoulder. She drops it unceremoniously. The Grandmaster's corpse oozes sluggishly, blood and brain matter and other miscellaneous bodily fluids soaking into the sands where so much other blood has been spilled for his pleasure. Good fucking riddance, thinks Bucky.

"The Grandmaster, may he live forever, is dead," she says, bland as ever. Bucky can't decide if she is the galactic champion of sarcasm or just doesn't care about anything enough to inflect her speech, ever. Possibly both. Certainly she doesn't seem wracked with grief. She presses a button on her staff and their obedience discs fall off their necks. She turns to Steve. "Congratulations, you are now the rightful ruler of Sakaar. I would like to submit my two weeks notice of resignation." The guards disperse at this, many running for the exits. 

"Oh hell no," mutters Bucky. Steve should not be the ruler of anything, this is a terrible idea.

"I have a better idea," says Steve. "Korg! Hey, Korg!"

Korg rolls up like an avalanche. "Yeah, mate?"

"This planet needs a new leader. You ready to make good on your revolutionary plans?"

"Am I! But not as the leader."

"Shoot. Then what do you suggest?"

"Come with me."

Bucky looks over a shoulder to where a crowd of gladiators are dividing up the grisly remains of the Grandmaster and... playing some kind of dice game with the parts? He does not want to know more about that. He would, in fact, like to know a lot less. He snaps his head away smartly and follows Steve and Korg through the labyrinthine tunnels of the arena complex. 

Korg lights a torch as they enter a particularly dusty and disused part of the catacombs. "Bucky, mate, need a hand with this. This stone is harder than I am, believe it or else."

Steve frowns. "Or else what?"

Korg shrugs. "Or else don't." He shoos Bucky forward to a stone plinth. "Get your metal fingers in there and crack it if you can. A little at a time, precious cargo inside."

Bucky raises his eyebrows but complies. Getting started is tricky, but once he's chipped out a bit of the unyielding stone, he manages to start a fissure, and slowly flexes his metal arm to expand it, bit by bit.

"Ah, that's it, mate, just a little more..."

Abruptly the entire plinth explodes in rubble, and a young woman the colour of slate is standing before them in a fighting posture. "WHERE IS HE!" Her gaze lands on Korg. "Korg!" She settles down a bit. "Korg, what happened?"

Korg moves forward and enfolds her in a crushing embrace. Bucky knows Korg can tear a man in half with his hugs if he's not careful, but the woman seems unfazed by his strength. 

"Oldstrong! Oh lady, it's been long and long. He trapped you in stone even I couldn't break."

"Where is he?" She sounds like she's on the point of growling.

"Dead," says Korg with a fierce satisfaction. "You can thank these two, actually. Trident through the face. They're tearing him up for sport on the sands as we speak."

"Good." she says, and spits on the ground. "May his putrid blood die on the sand and nourish nothing."

"Uh, Korg? Who is this?" asks Steve.

"This, mate, is the Oldstrong. Lady Caiera, Queen of the people of Sakaar."

"Queen?" asks Caiera.

"Aye, lady. You, I and Brood are the last of the warbonded, and you hold all the ancient power left in this world. It is yours to lead the renewal of all the peoples of Sakaar."

"Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you as a monarchist, Korg," puts in Bucky, who could give two shits but has listened to enough of Korg's late night revolutionary spiels to have filed him in the same socialist shit-disturber bucket as Steve.

"Well imposing my colonialist democratic views would be problematic, wouldn't it," explains Korg.

"Uh. Okay," replies Bucky. Steve is nodding along enthusiastically, so whatever. "Well congratulations, ma'am."

"I have you to thank, it seems. I have much to do, but tell me, is there anything you need in this hour?"

"Actually, yeah," says Bucky. Steve looks at him quizzically. "There's this scientist guy, or well, he's just a head, not a whole guy. But he's the one who—" Bucky taps his left arm with his right hand. "—to like, _amuse_ the Grandmaster, and I've kinda got a grudge." Well that's an understatement. The plates of his arm bristle and resettle themselves as he tenses, thinking of Zola. "I want to kill him. Trust me, you want him dead." Two weeks ago Bucky would have been horrified at the thought of killing anyone, or even hurting anyone on purpose beyond roughing up jackasses who thought ganging up on Steve was a fair fight. Two weeks ago Bucky still had his original factory-installed left arm, though.

"Oh, Mr. head-on-a-screen guy? He's dead," Korg supplies helpfully.

"He is?" Bucky feels light-hearted all of a sudden. "This day gets better and better."

"Yeah, actually, that happened before your match. He made some skin cream for the Grandmaster and it gave him a rash, so he had Topaz expunge him from existence."

Well that's an oddly specific way to put it. Bucky is not going to ask.

Korg says "If your second-best wish is to go home, I'm afraid it's going to have to wait. The port is a teeny bit on fire. And covered in lava. And riots. And rogue nanites. And rioting rogue nanites on fire."

Bucky shrugs and puts an arm around Steve. "Don't wanna anyway."

Steve looks over at him. "You don't?"

Bucky looks down at him fondly, somehow, for all that Steve is now several inches taller than him. "Can't be with you back home. Not in public. And you just stabbed a guy through the eye to get to keep me."

Steve blushes. "Aw, it was nothin'."

Bucky nuzzles his cheek. "It was not nothin'! Stabbing's real romantic."

"Ah, he speaks the truth of my heart," adds Oldstrong, which. Yikes.

"Guess we're staying," says Steve, his voice gooey.

"I will see that you have quarters and a place of honour among us."

"Uh, thanks," says Bucky.

"Wait!" says Steve. "I did think of one thing. No rush, but..."

"Name it."

Steve grins.

=====

"People of Sakaar! Welcome to this, the inaugural game of the... Palace Intramural Softie Ball Sport League!" The announcer from the arena had been thrilled to be able to keep his job yelling things confidently and incorrectly. "Today the Captains will face the Winemom Soldiers in baseball combat! Here to throw away the first pitching is our very own beloved queen and protector, the Oldstrong!"

Caiera the Oldstrong, resplendent in a white cape, tiara, and blood-stained armour, steps up to the recently constructed pitcher's mound. They'd tried in practice to convince her to throw the ball with less than deadly velocity, but her schedule as the new ruler of a radically decompensated society of suddenly manumitted slaves didn't leave a lot of time for learning weird Earth sports. So just in case, Bucky and his hopefully impervious metal hand are acting as catcher. She smiles radiantly and throws the ball. She's clearly holding back, but it still sends Bucky shooting back a few feet when he catches it. Oof.

The two teams race out to take positions. Steve, dressed more or less as an umpire—the costumer had somehow managed to incorporate a corset, but he'd gotten the ballcap mostly right at least—is running out to scold the short-stop, who is trying to eat second base, _again_ , but presently the game gets rolling, and the confused crowd claps enthusiastically at random moments that look exciting. 

Well, they'll get the hang of it later. They've got time. Bucky has some getting used to to do too; after a surprising outcry from the former gladiators, the giant scorpions had been spared, and now had their own little pen in left field. They were the mascots for both teams, apparently. Brood and its newly hatched family had waded in to paint team logos and slogans on their chitinous carapaces, unworried by the venom. 

The end of the inning approaches and Steve claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder, a huge grin on his face. "Think we can explain hot dogs in time for the next game?"

Bucky pales, imagining what the palace cooks would try to put in an unspecified sausage. "Maybe we should leave that for next season, pal."

"Aw, spoilsport." But Steve leans in to press a kiss on Bucky's temple.

"Favouritism! Ump's corrupt! Boooooo!" shouts Korg from the stands nearby. "Was that right? Did I do it right?"

"That's perfect, sport!" shouts Bucky. "Keep sassing!"

"He's right, you know." 

"Hmm?"

"You are my favourite."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

"Damn right. Best sap in the galaxy." 

A ball hits Steve in the head.

"SCORE!" yells the announcer.

"Ow," mutters Steve.

"I will remind you that this was your idea," soothes Bucky.

"S'cause I'm a genius," replies Steve, still rubbing his head.

"How hard did that thing hit you?"

"Jerk."

"You're a punk."

"REF'S A PUNK," yells Korg.

Bucky starts to giggle and can't stop. They're playing baseball on an alien planet god only knows how far from Ebbets field, because Steve is ridiculous, they're living in an actual palace, they're friends with a rock and a giant insect, and Steve loves him. Bucky wouldn't change a single thing.

One of the scorpions climbs the fence and tries to sting the announcer.

Yup, not a single thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/yamtimesthree), yellin' about Bucky usually.


End file.
